


In a Disordered String

by thejizzler



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Clothed Sex, Intimacy, Loss of Control, M/M, Power Dynamics, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 04:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejizzler/pseuds/thejizzler
Summary: Jerome gets his new ally Oswald Cobblepot to let go.





	In a Disordered String

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the news of [Jerome and Oswald's coming team-up](http://www.digitalspy.com/tv/gotham/news/a838111/gotham-season-4-jerome-partner-in-crime/), and the hints that [Oswald will be meeting someone who changes his current, hardened perspective on love and connection](http://www.cbr.com/gotham-showrunner-on-batman-rising-solomon-grundy-more/). I'm not sure how probable it is to speculate that these two teases are connected...but hey, this is fandom, so have some ficcish speculation anyway. 
> 
> Warning for some fairly graphic description of the state of Jerome's post-S3 face.

His hands are softer than Oswald expects, warm enough around his wrists that Oswald barely processes the accompanying pain of having his back slammed against his office wall.

The surprise of it strikes him temporarily dumb, but then Jerome is pinning his wrists still higher above his head and laughing that ghastly laugh of his and Oswald is cursing aloud, his knee flying upwards to make crushing contact with Jerome’s groin.

There’s a surprised ' _oof_ ' and a slackening of the soft-hard grip at Oswald’s wrists. Oswald uses the lapse in Jerome’s focus to wriggle his arms free, palms flat against Jerome’s chest and pushing hard.

Jerome staggers backwards, already cackling again by the time he’s regained his balance, his smile split so wide Oswald can see the stitches along his jaw straining from the stretch of it.

“Jeez,” Jerome breathes. “ _Touchy_.”

Jerome steps forward. Oswald eyes him carefully, jaw and fists clenched, ready to strike again if need be.

Ever unpredictable, Jerome surprises him anew by bringing his knuckles to Oswald’s cheekbone, dragging downward with a tenderness that makes Oswald shiver.

“ _What_ are you -”

Oswald’s protest dies in his throat when Jerome’s knuckles reach his jaw, a fingertip ghosting down the line of his neck.

“Relax,” Jerome whispers, the softness of his voice and touch at odds with the fire flickering in his irises. “I’m rethinking my approach.”

“Your _approach_?” Oswald’s voice sounds steady to his own ears, but he can see by the way Jerome’s mouth twists up tighter that the skip in his heartbeat and heat in his skin is no less palpable for it.

“Relax,” Jerome repeats, a snicker rounding out the edges of the word. “I want you to _relax_.”

Jerome’s fingers are splayed across his throat now, hovering rather than gripping down. Oswald feels his chest go tight, but he stays still, watching Jerome watch him with a curiosity ravenous enough to trump every self-preservation instinct in Oswald’s body.

“There’s a good boy,” Jerome laughs. It sounds mocking, the way that everything Jerome ever says sounds mocking, but Oswald can’t help but react to the phrase anyway, that echo of his mother’s dying words filling a void in his chest he’s grown too accustomed to.

Oswald tilts his chin up, leaning into the lightness of Jerome’s touch at his neck. Jerome’s ever-present grin broadens. Oswald stares at the way the unnatural folds of his bloodless skin pull with the movement and at the peek of angry red beneath.

Jerome tracks the slant of Oswald’s gaze and raises an eyebrow, the under-red of the gash at his eyelid laid bare.

“It’s _freeing_ ,” Jerome begins, tongue poking out the high corner of his mouth. “Being _exposed._ ”

Jerome brings the hand not currently at Oswald’s throat to his own face, yanking roughly at metal stitches and lifting a flap of skin up to uncover more soft muscle underneath.

Oswald shivers, and the caress at his neck intensifies just a touch.

“Would you like to see it?” Jerome asks, leaning in. Oswald isn’t sure he’s ever been this physically close to someone else in his life.

“It?” Oswald asks. He can feel the flush in his face going hotter.

“My face,” Jerome replies. “The _real_ one.”

Jerome pulls harder at the mask of skin in his hand, another staple popping off and onto the floor.

Oswald considers the question, his heart in his throat.

“Yes,” he decides, surprising himself with a repulsed thrill.

“Aren’t you _sweet_ ,” Jerome sneers, but there’s a flash of softness in his eyes.

Jerome drops the flap of skin and brings his hand to Oswald’s face instead, dragging the edge of a blunt fingernail down and across Oswald’s jawline. Oswald is breathing hard despite himself, lips parted.

“Later, maybe,” Jerome continues. “I want to see _your_ face first. The _real_ one, I mean.”

Jerome’s fingernail digs deeper into Oswald’s skin, the fingers at his throat gripping down.

Panic swells in Oswald’s chest.

“No, _no_ , no,” Jerome tuts. He lays the palm of his hand flat against Oswald’s cheek. “Remember, I want you to _relax_.”

Jerome inhales, leans in, and brings his upturned lips to Oswald’s.

Oswald gasps into the kiss, raising a hand to Jerome’s waist. Jerome’s lips are colder than the rest of him and far stiffer than Oswald had ever imagined Ed’s lips to feel, but the touch is nice, Jerome’s tongue warm where it’s dragging along his nether lip.

Jerome pulls away with no warning and Oswald lets out a noise of strangled protest that makes him laugh.

“These things don’t _work_ the way they used to,” Jerome cuts off his cackle to say, bringing both hands to his mouth and slapping down on his lips. “But I’m _tickled_ to hear you have no complaints.”

Oswald’s neck feels cold with the loss of Jerome’s grip. Feeling bold, Oswald reaches for Jerome’s wrist and places the hand back around his throat, biting down on his lower lip.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jerome laughs, delighted. He obliges to the unspoken request, fingers pressing down until Oswald goes lightheaded.

Oswald moans, eyes fluttering shut as Jerome’s squeeze intensifies. He can hear and feel his heartbeat pounding and wonders what he must feel like beneath Jerome’s hands, how vulnerable he must look.

“Yes, yes, that’s it,” Jerome purrs. The grumble of it sends tingles down Oswald’s spine. “That’s it, _Ozzie_. Let me _see_ you.”

The pressure heightens and Oswald’s mouth hangs wider open, a guttural noise in the back of his tightened throat. Jerome brings his lips to his chin, the friction of the chapped skin rendering Oswald still more helpless.

“Isn’t it _freeing_?” Jerome asks, voice sharp. His squeeze tightens. “Isn’t this _better_ than hiding, _worrying_ , scheming, _controlling_?”

Oswald tries to confess ‘yes,’ but it gets stuck in the grip of his throat and the swirl of pleasure in his head. He’s moaning, incoherent, hands clinging desperately to Jerome’s sides, hot all over and rutting against Jerome’s thigh.

“That’s it,” Jerome whispers. “Let go, let go for me, _Oswald_ …”

Oswald cries out, grinding down. Jerome releases his hold on his neck and Oswald lets in a gulping inhale like a scream, hips stuttering forward in one last shaking thrust as he comes inside his pants.

Oswald collapses down and Jerome catches him, arms strong and steady around his back. Oswald buries his face in his shoulder, violently panting and eyes stinging with blissed-out tears.

“ _Let_ me see,” Jerome commands, yanking Oswald’s head back by the hair and staring down into his face, eyes heavy-lidded and skin slackly sliding downwards.

Oswald’s tears flow freely, Jerome’s gaze so penetrating and tender at once that he feels as exposed as he’d had with his hands around his throat. It’s _unbearable_ and yet Oswald never wants it to stop. He wants, impossibly, to stay suspended in this moment forever, Jerome’s knowing eyes drinking him in and his arms so tight and safe around him.

_‘It’s freeing_ ,’ he hears, and he can’t be sure if it’s the memory of Jerome’s earlier words or if the man is actually repeating them out loud, ‘ _Being exposed_.’

“Yes,” Oswald says in agreement either way, hands tightening in the fabric of Jerome’s suit. Jerome laughs and the sound of it is gentler than he’s ever heard it before. Oswald feels suddenly insatiable, hungry to show, reveal, _give_ Jerome more.

“Take me. Fuck me,” Oswald gasps, the words hitting the air like an electric shock. “Please.”

Jerome’s grin widens. Two more stitches pop off and to the floor with a quiet two-tone clatter.

“Wait,” Oswald says as Jerome leans in for a hungry kiss, his touch sliding from Oswald’s back down to his ass. “Let me see you first.”

Jerome eyes him, curious, then grabs Oswald’s wrist and brings his hand up to his cheekbone, an invite.

Oswald runs a finger up the metal ridges circling Jerome’s face, yanking each off with a tug. When enough have come loose, he grips the detached layer of skin hanging on Jerome’s face and pulls it off and to the side.

They stare at each other, unblinking and unbreathing.

“ _Well_?” Jerome asks at last, blood-red maw twisting with some self-deprecation. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Oswald says, voice thick and eyes welling afresh, “That you’re beautiful.”

Jerome blinks, then laughs. And laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

As Oswald brings his hands up to his neck, pulling him in close, all he can do is join him.


End file.
